


Love Lies Bleeding

by agoodtuckering



Series: The Hour Stories [4]
Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Heartache, Mentions of Past Freddie/Lix, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: They're fighting again. Lix decides to poke the bear (until he tells her how he really feels).-She tightened her fingers around the edge of the counter. "Don't call me Alexis," she warned him."Why?" he asked, serious now. "Because I was the last one to call you that? It's your name. I've whispered it to empty bottles for decades. Now I'm finally here. What did you expect? You wanted the words out in the open? Well, now they are."
Relationships: Randall Brown/Lix Storm
Series: The Hour Stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598038
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Love Lies Bleeding

**Author's Note:**

> Vague reference to what happened between Lix and Freddie ages ago. Really, it never mattered. But it does to Randall. 
> 
> Takes place months after the show had ended.

All was silent at _The Hour._ It was well after hours and everyone _should_ have been home. 

Well, aside from the two journalists shouting in the breakroom, that was. 

"You slept with him?" Randall asked. She was utterly astounded. She didn't even know what to say. And when she did speak, her words were even and cold. 

"What does it matter? It only happened once."

He was staring at her, eyes hard and Adam's apple bobbing. It always gave him away — every time. There was emotion there. Hell, maybe she just knew him too well. 

"What does it matter, Randall?" she repeated, louder this time. "What does it matter to you what I do? It was only once. And why do you even care? Stop it with these games, please."

He paused, unsure of himself now. Feeling inferior, perhaps, to much younger men that had come and gone in her life. "Nevermind," he said suddenly. 

"No," she responded. Her words cut like a barrage of flying knives, as angry and bitter and aching as she was. "Tell me. Tell me why it even matters. I want to hear you say the words. They've been on the tip of that damn, witty, dry tongue of yours since you came back. Just say it already."

This was too close to crossing a line. 

He knew it. 

She also knew it. 

But she thought, perhaps, that by at least getting the words out in the open they could stop dancing around one another, or tiptoeing around on their respective egg shells. 

"Because I can't let it go," he replied finally. 

She raised her brows at that response, a bit shocked and more than a little confused. "You can't let go of what, Randall? You're going to have to be a little more specific."

He toyed with the chair in front of him, pushing it beneath the table just so. "You," he responded, clearly now. 

If she thought he'd left her breathless when they had been young and reckless and unafraid, it was nothing compared to the way she felt now. She sucked in a quick breath, the room suddenly spinning. She reached out to place a hand on the counter, in the small kitchen at _The Hour's_ office, eyes focused on him. 

"What?" she asked, beside herself with astonishment. 

"It matters to me who you've slept with," he responded, instantly feeling more courageous than before. "It matters to me, Alexis, because _you_ matter to me. Your past matters to me. Your past, your present, and your future all matter to me a great deal. Is that what you wanted to hear? Did you want to hear me say it? Don't think I haven't noticed that you still wear my ring around your neck. Don't think I haven't noticed the way your hands shake when you're around me. How you avoid even brushing my shoulder or bumping my elbow with yours. See, the thing about people like me, anyone with compulsive disorders? We notice everything. Every single little detail about our surroundings and people around us. You. I see you. I know you. I've always known you. All these years haven't changed my memory. What did you want me to say?" 

She was struggling to form words and to breathe right about now. She tightened her fingers around the edge of the counter. "Don't call me Alexis," she warned him. 

"Why?" he asked, serious now. "Because I was the last one to call you that? It's your name. I've whispered it to empty bottles for decades. Now I'm finally here. What did you expect? You wanted the words out in the open? Well, now they are." 

She was silent now. Instead of waiting for her, he asked, "Be honest with me. Did you miss me?"

Her face hardened. "I didn't miss this," she threw back at him. "This fighting. It turns into a knockdown-dragout every time. You're an arse, Randall."

He chuckled bitterly at that. 

"Well, I've missed you,” he said. “Fighting or not. Tell me you didn't think about me all these years and I'll be on my way. I'll even return to Paris if you wish it. I can arrange it.” 

She was looking at him now, utterly convinced that he’d lost his mind. 

All that he could do was stare back, wishing she would say what was on her mind. Wishing she would speak. Wishing he could tell what she was thinking. “You once asked me why I had to come back. Why I had to wake you up. Do you remember that? I came back for more than just our daughter. She’s gone. We know that now. We found out months ago. And yet, I’m still here. Did you need to ask why?” 

She was lighting a cigarette, hands practically trembling as she held her lighter aloft. 

“I don’t understand you,” she said after a slow, meaningful drag. “I don’t understand why you hadn’t said all of this to me sooner.”

His frustration was rising. He took a step away, almost towards the doorway into the hall, before stopping. “Because,” he replied. “I was ashamed. I was ashamed of what happened in my office that day. I was ashamed of myself. Of who I became. Can you not understand that, Lix?” 

The way he said her name, that Scottish brogue of his, left her feeling scorched. Winded, too. 

“I was ashamed of the man that news had made of me,” he clarified. “And we’ve been too busy worrying about Freddie, anyway. And now this news comes out. I don’t understand. Why did you… sleep with him? Why him? Why any of them?” 

Her hackles were up now. “Don’t you _dare_ lecture me about what I can and can’t do with my body,” she practically yelled. “I’m a woman, not a nun. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake is _not_ wrong. Sex can happen between two consenting adults. How _dare_ you even look at me right now, judging me for a one-night stand. Look at what we did when we were younger. Sneaking off together, having one another in closets and cheap hotels and worse places than I can even remember. How _dare_ you. You never once complained about my hands being all over you. Never. I’m a woman, Randall. It’s alright if a man does it, though, isn’t it? But if a woman does it, then she’s a _slut._ Don’t shame me. Just because you’ve lived like a priest all these years doesn’t mean you have to shame me. _Don’t.”_

That shut him right up. Lost for a moment, he simply stared at her. The memory of her touch would always be burned onto his skin. Into his mind. All over him. He’d tried to wash the memories away with whisky and it had never worked. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, quick to defend himself. “You should know that. You’re free to do what you wish with your own body. There’s nothing wrong with sex. I just meant…” 

He paused suddenly, inexplicably exhausted and somewhere near being through. “Just forget it,” he continued. “I’m done with this conversation. Forget everything I’ve said.” 

Randall turned to leave, only to be caught by her hand. She snagged the sleeve of his jacket and yanked him back to face her. “Don’t you dare think you can walk off right now,” she said, almost spitting the words. “You think you can say all that, about wanting me and caring for my past, present, future, and whatever other bollocks you just spewed, and then you can just leave? Then you can just walk right out of my life again? It doesn’t work that way. I won’t let you.”

His eyebrows rose, mouth ajar but no words were spoken. 

“You’re a good man now,” she told him, sure of herself. “Don’t let my angry tone fool you right now. I apologize for it, for everything we’ve just said. You are. You’re a changed man now. And if you feel that way about me, then you should just tell me. I’m sick of dancing around this, Randall. I’m sick of all of it. I’m sick of everything. If you want me, just tell me. Say it now.”

The smoke from her cigarette wafted his way and he took his glasses off for a moment, unsure of how to respond. By the time he’d cleaned them, slipping them back on his nose, he finally told her, “I do. I never stopped wanting you. All these long years, and my heart’s still yours. I have no right to tell you who to sleep with, who to be with, and I know that. I’m sorry for the words I said. Tell me to leave, right now, and I will. But I have to be honest with you, Lix. I’m tired of the games as well. I’m tired of hiding from you.” 

Gently, he reached out to take her cigarette. He took a long, slow drag from it, finding some courage in the instant zap of nicotine. He stubbed the filter out in a nearby ashtray before properly drawing her to him with delicate hands. 

“For god’s sake, just kiss me, Randall,” she mumbled softly. "I need to know what it feels like. I've missed this. I need to know if it's still just as good as it used to be."

He needed no further instruction. He dipped his head and caught her lips in a kiss. It was slow and lingering, and when she caught his lower lip with her teeth, he wound his arm around her lower back. He brought her closer, right up against him, and indulged in a low, wanting moan. She seemed to respond with her own soft sound unable to help herself. 

It _was_ just as good as it used to be, if not better this time around. He was sober now. Sober and more experienced. He wasn't bashful or shy or any number of things he used to be. He wasn't an eager young man anymore. He was an older man now, experienced and patient. 

"Fuck," she murmured softly against his lips, completely beside herself with desire and need and emotion. He chuckled softly, head turning to brush a kiss to her cheek. 

She sighed, breathing in his cologne, as he kissed his way around her face and down towards her neck. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, all but clutching him, needing to be grounded. 

"I never would have admitted this otherwise, but I'm glad you came back to me," she whispered, voice husky with desire.

He let his teeth nip at a spot in her neck that had always made her weak and she melted into his arms, thankful that he was holding her close. No one had ever been able to play her this way, like some sort of instrument. Not like him. 

"I'm relieved that you know it," he confessed softly, kissing her temple now. "That I came back _for you._ That I came back to you."

She sighed softly, adding, "We dwell on things we cannot bear to leave undone." Her fingers were careful on his tie, hesitant about wrinkling it in any way. She felt rather than saw the way his shoulders tensed for a moment. She'd repeated his own words, from months ago now. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Randall," she breathed, lips brushing his clean-shaven jaw. "Would you think badly of me if I told you I couldn't wait until we got home. I haven't the patience to get you back to my flat. Your office?" 

His fingers were travelling along her back, one particularly cheeky hand landing on her bum. He'd always been playful and the sting of painful recollection hit her square in the face. The memories hurt. But something about the fact that he'd never changed soothed the ache inside of her. She softened, smiling softly to herself. _It would be okay._

He kissed her tenderly, replying, "We've waited long enough. My office it is."

She was tired of waiting. 

_No more waiting._

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fictober!!! Guess who's back?


End file.
